Brainwashed
by corneroffandom
Summary: Alberto Del Rio cut all ties with Ricardo Rodriguez, but when Ricardo skips a couple weeks of shows, he knows he has to do something.


A/N: I have a ko-fi page now! If you want to help me stay caffeinated to keep the words flowing, my account name over there is corneroffandom. Thank you! Either way, enjoy the chapter.

Humming. That's all Ricardo hears at first. Soft, melodic humming undercutting everything else around him. The first time, he stops and looks around, confused when he doesn't see a source, nor anyone else reacting to the noise at all. "Hey, uh, do you hear that?" he asks uncertainly, looking around while Matt Striker pauses and listens.

"Hear what?"

Ricardo shakes his head, wondering if maybe he's officially losing his mind. "No, never mind, hearing things I guess." Striker goes on about his business and Ricardo tries to focus on the notes before him for his next interview segment... but he can still hear it, the noise growing more and more concerning the longer the night goes on.

After interviewing Los Matadores, Ricardo's relieved to walk out of the arena, sink into his car and begin the lengthy drive to the next town. The radio's on and because of this, it takes him a few minutes to realize. He hears no humming. The sudden realization makes him hit the brakes and then curse out an apology as the car behind him lays on their horn at the sudden stop. "Sorry, sorry. Ay dios mio," he mumbles, picking up speed once more. At the next red light, he turns the radio off and focuses with everything in him, desperate and fretfully searching for the noise that had haunted him for most of the evening.

There's still nothing. He stares blankly out at the night sky overhead. "What is going on?"

Days pass. He slowly forgets what he'd heard, what had haunted him through the arena Monday night. Even arrives back at Raw early that following week, eager to see what's going on, figure out where he can fit in, if anywhere. Some weeks he at least gets interviews, most weeks he just helps training or doing what backstage errand he can do, filling time. Waiting to possibly, some day, wrestle. He's halfway through a practice match with one of the Usos when he stops short, almost takes a clothesline wrong.

"Hey! Watch it, man," Jimmy snaps at him, before falling quiet, concerned. "Hey, you alright?" He waves a hand in front of Ricardo's face before awareness returns to the former ring announcer.

"Huh? Oh. Si, I'm so sorry, Jimmy. I... just got distracted," he fumbles through a half-hearted explanation, skin feeling uncomfortably hot and tight until Jimmy nods and taps him on the shoulder, turning to look at his brother.

Jey enters and Ricardo exhales roughly, rolling out to let them have at it while he tries to get his head back on straight. Which would be easier to do if he didn't hear that damn humming once more... and, even worse, underneath it... a slow, soft kind of chuckle that raises the hair on his neck even further. He closes his eyes desperately and whispers, "What is going on?" before walking up the ramp to the back, needing some time to himself.

He still hears it, it seems to be following him around the arena, but he shakes it off, focuses on another interview, this time with his former best friend, Alberto Del Rio. _As if today couldn't get any worse,_ he thinks, trying not to flinch when Alberto moves threateningly towards him, and then leaves as soon as the interview is over as if being in his presence is below him. _Screw you too,_ he thinks, his Latino temper getting the best of him, drowning out the odd sounds for a brief moment.

He packs his things up, returns the equipment to the techs, and then moves to leave once he's sure he won't be needed for anything else. He leans against his car for long, pensive moments and stares up at the stars. Unlike before, the humming kind of chuckling is still there, on the fringes of his subconscious. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he rocks forward to unlock the door, slip inside and leave, when... he hears shuffling footsteps. The person clearly in no hurry, only just visible under the moon, as if all other light sources have been snuffed out.

He swallows hard and squints, trying to figure out who... what. Why.

"Mmm. Hello, Ricardo Rodriguez," a voice, smooth as honey and containing about as much warning as a bee, greets him. He realizes with a sharp sort of clarity that _this_ is the source of the humming, of the chuckling, and he feels stupid for not recognizing it sooner.

"Bray Wyatt," he breathes out, the shadows around him morphing into two towers of men- Luke Harper and Erick Rowan, their eyes locked on him as they step up on either side of him, eyes dark and searching through the gloom.

"Poor little lamb," Bray breathes out, stroking Ricardo's face with cool, slow touches. "Lost, in the dark, with no one looking to find you. It is alright, your shepherd is here now. I will lead you home through the emptiness, to a place of safety and welcoming." His fingers are gentle, soothing, and Ricardo finds himself swaying into them, eyes closed, imagining a different touch on his face, brisk and a little impatient but still affectionate and warm.

"Alberto," he breathes, immediately horrified at the slip, the admittance of longing for his former employer even after all of these months.

Bray chuckles softly overhead and murmurs, "No, little lamb. I will take much better care of you than he ever did. You'll see. Just trust me."

For whatever reason, Ricardo wants to. He aches to, just to have someone to hold onto, to let them take over for a few minutes. But it's Bray Wyatt, the frightening cult leader who's capable of so much evil, who has _done_ so many bad things to so many people just in the brief time he's been in WWE. "No," he stutters. "Please- por favor... I don't... I don't..."

"Don't what?" Bray wonders, eyes gleaming in the darkness as if reflecting light from his ever present lantern. "You don't want to be part of a family again? You don't want to feel _part_ of something special? I can- we can- give you all of that," he says, nodding to Luke, to Erick. "We will be your family." He pats Ricardo's face once more. "You will never be alone again. Come with us."

"Come," Harper and Rowan chant, as if possessed. "Come... come. Come." Bray starts to hum under their pleas and Ricardo again feels that urge, leaning into their warmth, their beckoning.

Ricardo's breathing is sharp, his eyes desperate. _Alberto, please,_ he thinks one final time, knowing that it's pointless. That Alberto will not be coming. The last of his resolve disappears, dulled by the incessant humming. "Family," he agrees faintly, barely registering as he steps into Bray's light and his awareness of Luke and Erick fade away. "Please, take me with you."

Bray's humming turns into full on laughter as his fingers grow more possessive against Ricardo's face, drawing him in. "Good boy," he breathes before nodding to Erick and Luke, turning sharply and walking away, leaving them to walk forward with Ricardo between them, guiding him to the beat down truck on the outskirts of the parking lot.

Nothing else matters to Ricardo right now, except to follow his new family towards a better life, one without pain, without the torturous whispers of his memory.

It's a long, quiet ride. He doesn't mind it, he doesn't mind the darkness, he doesn't mind the whispers, he doesn't mind anything until he's settled on a thin cot and dirty fingernails are biting into his flesh, eyes focused on his own. He whimpers, digs his fingers into the ragged, scratchy blankets under him and bites back a groan when Bray whispers soothingly to him. "This has to be done, my son. You will understand in time... I will erase all of your pain, I will make it all melt away... you will be reborn with an understanding unlike anything you've ever had before." He strokes, he cajoles. "Everyone always abandons you, don't they? Your father, Alberto Del Rio, Rob Van Dam... you can't trust friend or family alike... but you can trust me. You can trust your new brothers in arms."

Ricardo looks up through teary eyes as Erick and Luke hover nearby, staring down at him with blank looks on their faces. He wonders if perhaps they endured this same... same torture, the feeling of something scratching at their memories, taking everything away from them piece by piece, leaving them blank and hollow, but before he can _do_ something, say something, the thought slips away from him too and he returns his attention to Bray, to his words, to the steady look on his face.

"Mine," Bray whispers, his touch digging in deeper, Ricardo gasping against the intrusion as flashes of memory crosses his mind, fades away into nothing. He gets a momentary glimpse of a tall man with a smug grin and a black scarf clapping him on the back before it too disappears, leaving Ricardo empty and cold. He swallows and stares up into Bray's piercing eyes before realizing- there's quiet. There's peace. There's calm.

"Muchas gracias," he exhales, reaching up to touch Bray's hands reverently.

"You're welcome, my son," Bray tells him, laughing under his breath as he gets to his feet and faces Luke and Erick. "Make him feel welcome."

Luke and Erick shuffle forward and stand on either side of Ricardo, staring down at him as if sizing him up, but for the first time ever, Ricardo is unconcerned, aware that they won't go against Bray's edict unless they wanted something bad to happen. He gets to his feet and examines the simple, rustic room he finds himself in- the cot, a table, dirt smudged windows, and plain wooden floors. He decides he likes it.

-x

Alberto Del Rio sneers as he enters the arena for Raw, casting a dismissive glance around. He walks into his private locker room and sits down to prepare for his match. There's no reason to hang around longer than he needs to. Sometimes he would, back when Ricardo was still working for him, because they'd lurk around and belittle those around them, but since firing Ricardo and leaving him broken and beaten on the mat outside of the ring all of those weeks ago, Alberto's job has become just that, little more than a job, so he's eager to leave, find a half-decent bar and drink until he can't think or feel the various aches and pains from the most recent matches he's had.

After changing into his gear, he goes for a walk to pass time until his match is up. Looks for someone to annoy or belittle- not as much fun alone, but it passes time so he doesn't care- but comes up empty. Frowning, he turns in a circle and huffs, heading back to his locker room. Halfway there, he stops short when he hears a familiar name, turning towards the voices he'd heard. He doesn't know most of the crew but he thinks it's Matt Striker and Lilian Garcia. "I have to do all of the interviews for the website this week because Ricardo Rodriguez no-showed," he's grousing.

Alberto's eyebrows raise as he casts a quick glance around, realizing that it's true. He hasn't seen Ricardo, and he would usually at least notice the man scampering out of sight when he's coming once or twice by now. He goes through the rest of the night distracted- wins his match, heads out but instead of going to a bar he drives around for awhile, enjoying being alone in one of his excessively fancy cars for the first time in a long time. Or at least tries to. He's distracted, the roads and the sights passing him by before he can fully observe them.

It's not like Ricardo, who had never avoided his job no matter how sick or in pain he was in the years that he'd worked for Alberto. He doesn't want to care, he doesn't want to think about it, but it eats at him nonetheless, some old fondness he'd had for the man rearing its ugly head. "Why though?" he grumbles to himself in heavily accented English. "I wanted him gone, he's finally gone and now... now I don't want it anymore?" He stares at himself in the mirror. "You are getting soft, El Patron."

It's a jolt, hearing those words again, and he swallows hard, flashing back to the years of friendship he'd had with Ricardo. How quickly it had all soured. "Ay dios mio," he grunts. "Next week he will be back and I will feel pathetic for feeling like this."

Although he keeps trying to tell himself this, he doesn't sleep well the next few days, overly short tempered with Sofia, and all around even more awful to be around than usual. He plans on taking it all out on some pathetic random at Raw... until he arrives and senses it more than sees it. Ricardo's still not here. This is confirmed when he overhears Striker once more bitching about Ricardo, and how he never deserved this job. Alberto grabs him before he finishes speaking and pins him to the wall, glowering at him while shaking him warningly. "Perhaps _look_ for him if you have such a problem with his absense, which by the way, is _not_ like Ricardo at all!"

Striker looks shocked as Alberto drops him and storms back out of the arena, needing a breath. He's standing there, staring up at the stars that used to fascinate Ricardo so much, when he hears a throat clear behind him. It's Miz and he sneers in disgust at the man, turning away to return his focus to the skies overhead, hoping for some sort of an answer from the constellations above.

"If you're looking for something," Mike says slowly, "From experience, I can really only think of one group around here to consider when things- or people- go missing."

It takes Alberto a minute to realize Mike has been speaking to him and by the time he looks up, Miz is already back inside, the door slinging shut behind him. He tries to make sense of what that could possibly mean when it hits him. "Wyatts," he hisses out, never having much interaction with the group, knowing better than to even look twice at them... their powers being something he wants nothing to do with, having experience with such things during his time in certain Mexican wrestling federations. But the thoughts of Ricardo being held, turned into a mindless vessel like one of the swampdwellers that Bray has with him at any time... He can't allow it, despite everything that's gone on between them.

He has all of the money in the world, but how... how... how, to find a cult in the middle of nowhere? He closes his eyes and _thinks._ There's only one possibility and he dreads it deep down to his core.

The cameraman- Alberto almost wishes he knew his name now- who had stumbled out of the woods after trying to film the Wyatt compound months back. Who had only just returned to work a few weeks back, still suffering from shakes and hallucinations sometimes. The McMahons had brought him back while he was still going through therapy to avoid a lawsuit, giving him easy, low-stress jobs while paying him bonuses here and there to keep the news of their questionable working conditions from the general public or, worse, their boardmembers. So he goes looking for the guy, cringing when he finds him staring off into the distance, a broken look about him. Walking up quietly, he makes sure he's within the man's line of sight before speaking. "Excuse me?" English isn't Alberto's first language, he hates using it most times, but for now... it's necessary.

The man looks up at him, a glazed look in his eyes. "What do you want?" he asks in a cracked voice and not for the first time, Alberto suspects there's not enough therapy in the world to fix what's broken inside of this man.

"The Wyatt compound-" he says and flinches away as the guy stands up, all but pushing him away in his desperation. Before he can run, however, Alberto grabs him by the arm. "Don't run, don't!" he snaps, desperate. "Mi amigo-" He stops. Curses under his breath, pressing fingers of his free hand into his eyes. "Ricardo Rodriguez is missing, I suspect the Wyatts have him and I need to find him. Please- por favor- can you tell me anything?"

The man's eyes are distant, lost in a hell that no one can reach, and Alberto wonders how many months of therapy he's just added onto the guy's burden. He wavers and leans forward, tugging at Alberto's hand helplessly. "Let me go, let me go, let me go, let me go-"

Alberto starts to feel a cringe of conscience but his need to know outweighs everything else so he refrains, staring at the man. "Please, you have to help him. So what happened to you... doesn't happen to him."

Somehow, this seems to click. The man begins breathing heavily, staring at Alberto with wild, wide eyes, before grabbing at the nearest marker and scribbling desperately on the closest strip of paper, sounding like he's close to hyperventilating as his writing grows larger, as if it's a strain to keep himself together long enough just to write these three lines. Finally he's done and Alberto lets him go, watching as he all but scrambles out of the hall, nearly clawing at himself to get away.

Alberto shakes it off after a moment, grabs the paper and stares at it. It's an address. He swallows and heads out, not wanting to waste any time.

-x

The food is simple. The life is quiet. They forage for berries, they hunt, they eat what they kill, they sit around at night and listen to Bray's lilting, sing song style of storytelling, and sometimes, on the night of the full moon, they have a bonfire and cluster near, the fire as hypnotizing as the stories and songs. Bray's voice is the most soothing thing Ricardo's ever heard, so calm and quiet one second, and then loud and booming the next. It's captivating. He feels more affection for the man than he's ever felt for anyone else, and even better, this bond is not designated by money or greed... This bond has been formed from truth and poetic words, and Ricardo can't imagine his life any other way. Doesn't _want_ to imagine it any other way.

After a couple of weeks with the family, Ricardo is sitting by the swamp, watching Harper fighting with a crocodile, Rowan sitting next to him and splitting wood with a well-used knife, his sheep mask staring back at Ricardo from where it's laying. It doesn't scare him anymore, in fact he's been considering if perhaps he could ask for a mask of his own at some point soon. Something understated but clearly in theme with the others, to prove he's a member of the family too. The thought of finally belonging somewhere where he will be taken care of, major decisions will be made for him, and there is no stress, makes him feel light and happy.

Bray joins them after awhile, rests a hand on the back of Ricardo's neck and laughs as Harper once more overpowers the large crocodile, sending him snapping into the murky water with a pleased glower on his face. "Well done, well done," he coos, clapping for the man who's been with him the longest. Turning his attention to Ricardo, he smiles. "And how is my youngest doing? Hmm?"

"Fine," Ricardo says with a small, almost shy smile of his own. "Thank you for welcoming me into the family."

Bray continues to massage his neck, nodding. "It was meant to be, you with us," he says quietly before turning to walk back towards the house, to handle whatever work it is that he does in the afternoon before the family's meals.

Ricardo watches him go wistfully before getting doused with water from another flailing alligator, laughing with Rowan as they turn back to focus on Luke's swamp adventures.

-x

"No one cares," Alberto mumbles, absolutely floored. He had called to explain what he was doing, where he was going, why he would be away for awhile, and the agent who'd answered the phone had seemed almost confused that someone cared enough to go bring Ricardo back. "Perros." His private plane had brought him into the middle of nowhere in Louisiana, the closest place to the address that was safe to land in, and he grimaces, kicking at muck and slime trying to steal his shoes away from him. He'd paid a local to take him this far, but then the man had chickened out. Explained that no one came out this far in the swamps, that there were weird things- people missing, horror stories of possessed alligators, etc.

Alberto scoffs. "Wyatts." He trudges further, relieved that he'd had the foresight to change into jeans and a tank top, a thin but long sleeved jacket his main protection against poison ivy and mosquitos. The directions he has so far have been invaluable, leading him down one hidden path to the next until he actually sees it, he thinks- a ramshackle excuse for a house, with smoke trailing up from nearby, as if something's cooking. He swallows, dark eyes darting here and there, before he steps onto the grounds. He can sense the evil here, the foreboding discomfort, and he can only imagine what they're doing to Ricardo right this moment.

This thought steels his resolve, helps him to continue walking. The area is massive. He can hear voices, smell the cooking now, and instead of leaving him disgusted, it _almost_ smells appetizing, but he forces down all other distractions and continues on to the house, not sure where to start looking for Ricardo. He can hear his own breathing, every step he takes, loud and cumbersome in the quiet of nature. It's frustrating, leaves him digging his fingers into his palms as he progresses on. The door isn't locked, to his confusion, so he pushes it open and peeks inside.

The house is quiet, poorly lit. He frowns and isn't that surprised to find that there's no electricity, just natural light and _maybe_ an decades old radio in the corner that he doubts even works any longer. He can't imagine Ricardo here, away from his social media, and music, and... Closes his eyes and trails his fingers along the fireplace mantle before turning to walk down the hallway. There a cold chill creeps down his spine and he grits his teeth against the sensation, moving from one bedroom to the next. There are so many rooms for such a small looking house, he wonders what voodoo is holding this place together... then stops short, the final room calling to him. It contains even less furniture than the others, a chair and a limp bed with the cheapest mattress Alberto's ever seen.

He exhales, "Ricardo," about to push the door open enough to enter when there's a creeping touch down his cheek. Everything goes dark before him, even the sun blotted out, and he wants to scream into the nothingness before him, when...

"RUN!" Bray Wyatt barks at him, his laughter stalking him as he does just that, breaking clumsily through the house and out of the still open door, crashing through the foliage and finding his way back where he'd started, surrounded by the voices and cooking food, but this time, the voices are all saying his name, as if in awe by his presence.

"Ricardo," he whispers, adrenaline fading from his body and leaving him motionless on the grass-strewn ground, darkness now his only comfort as he passes out.

When he comes to, he finds himself in that small room. The one that had Ricardo's essence pouring from it for some reason. He blinks wearily, flexing his fingers and trying to find any kind of energy enough to move. "Ricardo," he groans, struggling to get off of the ramshackle bed. "Ri- Ricardo..." It's his mantra, the focus of his thoughts as he finally gets to his feet and struggles to maintain his balance. He stumbles to the door and looks out, breath catching in his throat when he finds that red-bearded man... Rowan... standing guard. They stare at each other until Rowan growls at him and he reluctantly heads back into the room, not wanting to get into a fight when he's still feeling _so_ fuzzy.

He's not sure how much time has passed when he hears the door squeak open, someone step inside. "Alberto." He turns sharply, then regrets it as his vision wavers, twists. He thinks he's going to be sick when a hand rests on his wrist, fingers curling around where his pulse is racing. "Why are you here?"

His thoughts are fuzzy but he forces himself to spit words out. "I came to find you," he spits out. "Bring you home."

Ricardo's laugh sounds wrong. His eyes look dead. His touch is cold. "This is my home, silly. And it can easily be yours as well. We could be together again, El Patron. Isn't that why you came? To be with me?"

Alberto swallows. Forces himself to face this version of his best friend- the heartbroken, vulnerable shell of a man that he'd left behind all of those months ago, after attacking him with the bucket he'd so lovingly crafted for him, with their home's flag on it. "I came to save you," he offers weakly and Ricardo shakes his head.

"There is no danger here, El Patron. Nothing to save me from. Just peace, and quiet, and _family._ No one can hurt us here."

Alberto wants to scream, able to tell by the look in his brother's eyes that merely spending a few moments here is long enough for the cult leader to get his clutches around someone, dig in deep and make it difficult to get through. "Ricardo..." he beseeches. "I know I have harmed you, I know you've always deserved better than the things I've done to you, things I've said, but please. Don't lose yourself because I am a blind, careless jackass who was always too self-obsessed to put you first like you deserved."

Ricardo's lack of a reaction leaves an ache through Alberto's chest and he wonders if this is how it felt all of the times Alberto had ignored Ricardo's well-meaning suggestions and hopeful advice. Face falling, Alberto lifts Ricardo's hands and lightly kisses his knuckles, watching his face. "It's ok," he breathes, making a sudden decision. Anything to try to snap Ricardo out of whatever hold Wyatt has on him. "If you want to stay here, we can. I will..." He swallows, imagining his house, his cars, his money... Sofia... Except for the housekeeper, it really is all such a shallow existence. "I will stay here by your side." He looks up into Ricardo's eyes, thinking he sees a flash of emotion there, but then Ricardo blinks and it's gone. "I will do anything required of me to show how truthful my allegiance with Bray Wyatt is."

Ricardo looks confused. "Why would you do that? You scoff at Bray Wyatt's power. You risk this house purposely. Explain yourself."

Alberto sighs, never one to admit his feelings but knowing that, in this moment at least, it is necessary. "I do it for you, mi hermano. I sent you down this path, and I will not leave you to be another mindless slave in his odd little cult. Do you understand me?" Another flash of emotion cross dull grey eyes and Ricardo gasps, blinking hard. "Don't stop yourself from feeling," Alberto chides him as his lips twitch. "Allow yourself to remember. Hold onto this, Ricardo. Believe my words. They are the truth, not whatever Bray Wyatt has been telling you."

It's clear Ricardo is fighting with himself. His brow is furrowed, eyes are squeezed shut tightly, and his lips twitch and tremble regularly, so often that Alberto wonders if the others trapped in this life would be as easy to reach. "El Patron," he groans out, Alberto quickly leaning in and cupping his face. "I can't..."

"Yes, you can," Alberto tells him quietly. "You can. You will. Come back to me, Ricardo."

"Hurts too much," he forces out, eyes filling with tears that slowly cascade down his face. Alberto watches on, in awe and disgust that he'd done this to such a beautiful, sweet man. "I don't want to-"

Sensing he's about to make a decision, Alberto lunges forward and presses his forehead to Ricardo's. "No-" he stares into RIcardo's pale, trembling face. "I will avoid you," he promises. "I will go elsewhere if I see you, I will cross the street... whatever you want, just please... please do not give into this life."

"It's so simple," he whispers through trembling lips. "To give it all over, to let someone else decide for me." Fresh tears pour over Alberto's fingers as he shudders, Bray's influence slowly dying away. "But I miss my life. Artwork, and wrestling, and yoga, and all of my friends." He opens his eyes, exhausted but settled in the truth he's facing right now. "You and Sofia."

Alberto breathes out. "What are you saying, mi hermano?"

"Get me out of here, por favor."

Alberto nods. Once, then again. "Si. Let's go." It's suspiciously easy. He can feel they're being watched, Bray's presence suffusing everything from the cabin to the trees, but no one approaches them. It's almost anticlimatic as they walk side by side through the grounds to the edge where the man who'd dropped him off had refused to go any further. Alberto checks his phone, relieved to see he has service, and places a call. Listens for a moment, barks into it in Spanish, and then hangs up before turning back to Ricardo. "The pilot for my private plane is sending someone to pick us up," he explains, reaching out and gently rubbing his arm. "Are you... are you ok?"

He's quiet, staring pensively into the distance. "I still feel him," he shares. "He's not happy... but he's laughing... Like he's amused by the thought of someone trying to escape." He looks at Alberto. "Help me."

"You're safe," Alberto insists, clinging to his shoulders and staring at him. "I refuse to let anything bad to happen to you. He will never touch you again."

Ricardo closes his eyes and rests his hands on top of Alberto's. "I want to believe you," he admits shakily. "I really do."

"I don't deserve your trust, but I mean every word I say." He ducks his head and smiles down at Ricardo sadly. "Muchas gracias for choosing to let me save you. You're so strong, and brave. After everything you've been through, most may not have selected the same thing you did."

Ricardo's eyes are still distant, dull, as he looks past Alberto towards the compound just visible from here. "I chose life," he says quietly. "This, here, is no such thing."

Alberto nods. "Exactly, mi hermano. Exactly." He squeezes Ricardo's shoulders, looking up as the car finally pulls up before them. "Come." He ushers Ricardo inside, and only breathes a little easier once they're in the plane heading back towards Florida.

-x

Amazingly, Bray seems to let it go. He doesn't approach Ricardo backstage, barely registers either of them as he, Harper and Rowan walk by in the hall. Nightmares remain, Ricardo sometimes waking up screaming with Bray's laughter echoing in his head, memories of smooth whispers and soft reassurances causing Ricardo to break out in sweat, digging his nails into the bed sheets every night he wakes up like this.

Alberto keeps an eye on him, pays others to keep him protected at arenas whenever he can't, and all in all, things slowly fall back into something of a status quo. It's weeks later when Alberto feels Bray behind him, an intense look in his cool, grey eyes. "The little sheep always returns to the shepherd," he informs Alberto, falling into maddened little giggles. "All sacrifices made will never be enough."

Alberto leans towards him. "Unfortunately for you, you're wrong. Because there's more than sacrifice bonding us. We are brothers." He casts a cool glance at Rowan and Harper. "You may believe you have the same here, but you do not, You will never understand the true bond of _familia."_

Bray laughs even harder, turning slowly and nodding at both Harper and Rowan, who turn and quietly leave. " _You_ will never understand the bond of _my_ family." He casts a glance over his shoulder. "You _will_ , however, witness it first hand when he returns to us."

Alberto scoffs. But as soon as Bray is out of sight, he feels the need to go find Ricardo and check on him. It's hard to miss him, Ricardo's suits drawing all eyes because of the strange colors he's started wearing. He's currently wearing a cream jacket and black pants, interviewing the Los Matadores again, and Alberto breathes a little easier when he hears him talking, self-assured and calm. He slumps down onto the benches once they're gone and glances over. "I sense you there, El Patron."

He comes out of the shadows and sits next to Ricardo, staring down at his hands as he ponders whether or not to tell him what just happened. "I saw Bray," he finally admits. "I think he's not quite done with you."

"I figured things were going too easily," he sighs, picking at some lint on his pant leg. "Gracias for letting me know."

"I won't let him harm you. I promise." Alberto had kept his prior promise- keeping space from Ricardo- but he thinks now it's time to overwrite that promise with this. "He won't get close enough."

Ricardo nods. Stares over him. "I suppose then it's time we stop avoiding each other, hm? Just to make things easier on both of us."

Alberto smiles at him. "I believe so, mi hermano. I swear I will not push, whenever you need your space, I will leave you alone. But..." He sighs. "I will be thankful to have my best friend back in my ilife. To any degree that you will allow."

Ricardo nods. Scratches absently at his jaw. "I will too," he admits quietly.

They exchange glances and Alberto smiles slightly, rubbing Ricardo's back briefly before backing off. It's going to take time, and possibly more patience than Alberto has most days, but he will put the work in. He will try, because he never wants to see Ricardo look as lifeless and broken as he did in the middle of the Wyatt compound again.

He will fight for his brother to the ends of the earth, against anything and everything, be it supernatural or not. And he will win. There's no other option.


End file.
